


Bitters

by Poochee



Series: Melancoholic [3]
Category: Actor RPF, Marvel Cinematic Universe RPF, Real Person Fiction
Genre: Alternate Universe, Kissing, Loneliness, M/M, Pining, Reunions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-12
Updated: 2018-04-12
Packaged: 2019-04-21 21:13:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,001
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14293578
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Poochee/pseuds/Poochee
Summary: Two weeks was indeed an eternity, for a man in love.





	Bitters

It’s the warmth of the sun through the open window, blanketing his freckled tanned skin, that makes him content. The low, steady purr of Rosie across from him, asleep, helps lull his conscious into that dreamy in-between. He sees nothing but the sun through his eyelids – veins and vessels, twitching as he listens to the curtain shift with the wind. The stiff yet soft quilt made from a loving mother’s needles beneath him, from years and years ago that still smells like a cold, damp basement.

It’s bliss. Dozing in the Australian sun, with nothing else to do.

Slowly, he pries his eyes open, blind from the sun but he can make out the white of the ceiling through his sun-bleached eyelashes. He feels the weight of his book on his chest, his hand still grasping it weakly, a thumb between the pages. His mind swims, lifting the corners of his mouth in a tiny, twitching smile. His heart aches happily, for love in fiction and reality.

_“I will never leave him. It will be this, always, for as long as he will let me.”_

He turns to Rosie, who is blinking at him, and smiles at her, “Just four more days, and he’ll be back.”

She purrs in return.

Then his phone rings, from the pillow it rests on. He turns his head first, his sight following, and reaches for it, extending his arm fully before he finally has it in his palm. The picture is of his friend Tara, holding Rosie like a baby, and he swipes his thumb across the screen to answer the call with a gentle, “Hello?”

“Hey hey, what are you doing?”

He looks over at Rosie again, “Reading and sun-bathing with Rosie.”

“ _Ugh_ , I’m jealous. Wanna get some coffee?”

“Only if it’s iced,” he hums with a smile.

“Got it. I’ll pick you up in a bit.”

\--

He watches out of the window, hearing the idle sound of the café in the background as he waits for Tara to return with their drinks. It’s a Monday afternoon, with busy streets and sidewalks but Tom feels soft and lazy inside. When his friend returns, his reaction is a bit delayed, and he gives her an easy smile and a ‘thanks’ as he reaches for his drink.

“You alright?” She asks with a smile, tying her faded pink hair up into a messy bun.

He nods, “Yeah -- great, actually…really…” He thinks for half a second, “I don’t know, _content_?”

“Oh?” Tara grins, “Zen, almost?” She teases.

“Yeah, Zen,” he chuckles softly, “Dream-like. I think it’s because of the book.”

She shakes her head fondly as she pulls out her laptop, “I told you it would take over your life.”

“It’s just…everything I’ve ever felt about love and longing, it puts into words. You’ve read _Night Train to Lisbon_ , right?”

“Yeah - you feel like Raimund when he finds the book?”

“Exactly!” He smiles again, “I mean, this one isn’t nearly as philosophical, but it’s so lovely. And heartbreaking. It’s the most romantic book I’ve ever read.

“Well, I’m glad I’ve introduced you two,” she smirks as she sips on her drink, “Has Chris ever read it?”

He shakes his head with a guilty little smile, “No, I haven’t let him. I promised to let him have a chance after the fifth time I’ve finished it.”

They laugh together, chuckling, and Tom aches for him.

“How is he, anyway? I feel like I haven’t seen him in ages,” Tara asks a little absently as she flicks through her textbook for the right page.

Tom stabs gently at his ice with his straw, eyeing the light brown colour of creamed coffee and how it looks like Chris’ hair, “He’s good. Still away with his dad. He’ll be back on Friday.”

“That’s one long-ass business trip,” she gives him a sympathetic look.

Two weeks was indeed an eternity, for a man in love. He gives her a small smile, “It’s that or we’ll never go on vacation.”

“Oh right, I forgot about that. Where are you two going, again?”

He shrugs, “Wherever we choose. We haven’t really discussed it in detail yet.”

They’ve travelled Australia’s biggest cities over the past year, and some of the smaller spots, too. It’s the restlessness. The need to leave, to see new things, to escape from lives they no longer lead. It’s hard to put roots down when you spent your entire life digging them up. It’s a huge risk to leave, even for a week or so, but they’re becoming far too willing to risk it.

“Well, wherever you go, get me a souvenir, alright?”

\--

Tuesday, he babysits and walks the dogs. Imagine it, their Rottweilers prowling down the street and playing with his new nieces is certainly a sight to see. They’re gentle with the girls, but Tom makes sure to send them to the backyard once they become a bit too overwhelmed with the tea party. When he comes back, the girls are still playing, and he hears his phone ringing on the kitchen counter.

By the time he gets to it he’s missed the call, but there’s a voicemail left for him.

It’s just Luke, checking in. Wanting an update and letting him know that they’d be back sometime after dinner to pick up the girls. Tom ignores how his heart sinks and instead sends off a text before going to rejoin the party.

That evening, when its just him and the animals, he tries his hand at cooking. Again. He props Chris’ iPad onto the kitchen counter and carefully studies the way the chef cuts onions and tomatoes. It’s not _that_ hard. Spaghetti is like, the easiest thing to make. A beginner’s dish. And once he perfects it, he can make it for Chris.

He has gaudy little fantasies of having dinner ready when Chris returns home from work, just uncorking the wine for them as Chris washes up from a hard day’s work. _Ugh_. When had he become such a little house wife?

The final result isn’t very good, but it’s edible. It’s a bit on the salty side and the pasta is just a bit too al dente for his liking, but the spices are just right. He’d try it one more time before Chris came home. In the meantime, he drops pieces of ground beef onto the ground and smiles as Sol and Salvatore each wait patiently for their accidental table scraps at his feet.

\--

He wakes at just after five, from a stiff shoulder and a lonely heart. “Two weeks is just too long,” he whispers aloud as he pets Sol’s head, smiling as his brother snores loudly from the floor. He was the safest boy in Australia, here in this huge bed. Even Rosie was curled up on his pillow, nestled happily in his crazy curls. The only thing missing was Chris. He shifts his tired eyes to the window, and sees that the sky is still dark, but the inkling of colour in the horizon can be seen. It’s an ideal time to go to the beach, he decides. No one will be around, so he can have the boys off their leads, and he can watch the sunrise.

The beach isn’t far, but he still needs the car to reach it before the sun rises. After quickly feeding the two Rotties, he changes into some lighter clothing – one of Chris’ thin long-sleeved t-shirts, and black shorts. It looks ridiculous on him, but it gives him comfort, and the nerve to handle their daunting Jeep. He _never_ drove anywhere unless absolutely necessary, something Chris had helped him accomplish last year. It had taken him about six months to really get a handle on it, but even then, he was a nervous driver. Chris was much more natural and relaxed behind the wheel.

_“You have to know how to drive, baby. What if I get hurt and can’t drive myself to the hospital? What will you do then?”_

_“I’ll call an ambulance!”_

_“Don’t be stubborn, Thomas.”_

But, driving early in the morning is much easier. Especially before rush hour. The streets are nearly empty, and he makes his way to the beach with Salvatore licking at his cheek, the sound of gentle music sounding through the speakers.

When they arrive, he puts them back on their leads and grabs a ball to play with. The sound of distant waves crashing is calming to his nerves, and he laughs softly as the boys pull him towards the sand, tugging gently to make them slow down as he feels the soft sand beneath his feet. The sky is still dark, but the horizon is light blue and purple, and the colours are steadily growing. He makes sure there’s no one around before letting the two free, throwing the ball down the beach a second later, and smiling as they take off after it.

In the afternoon, he paints – a bright baby pink sky, with smears of yellow and orange to recreate the sunrise he watched that morning. There’s still no call or text, but he isn’t worried—not _that_ much, anyway. The worries he has for Chris aren’t the same as the worries he used to have. Now, when he knows Chris is away working, he knows where he’s going and how long he’ll be away. He doesn’t have to fantasize or guess what his lover is doing anymore. There’s a security that hadn’t been there before, and it’s liberating for them – to know that the other is safe even when they’re apart.

Still, it doesn’t make Tom’s pining any less insufferable. And perhaps he’s not making it any better by reading a romantic-yet-tragic book.

Then again, he’s always had a taste for acute suffering.

*

_‘I’ll be home tomorrow, sometime in the evening. C’_

“Just one more day,” he murmurs to himself, fingers curled against his lips.

_‘I’ll wait up.’_

He places his phone down and picks up the book again, curling his toes against the sheets as he reads.

_“In the darkness, two shadows, reaching through the hopeless, heavy dusk. Their hands meet, and light spills in a flood like a hundred golden urns pouring out of the sun.”_

He tries and fails not to think about Chris, from the way his eyelashes curl to how he sings off-key in Spanish. How he still loves to spoil Tom, although in smaller ways now. Much smaller. They don’t jet away to exotic locations whenever they feel like it, but Chris buys him flowers spontaneously and takes him to the art supply shop when he runs low on paint. Makes Tom breakfast whenever he can, even if it’s just simple eggs and toast.

Tom wonders what to do for him, when his man comes back home to him. A massage? He isn’t very good, but he can try his best. Chris would certainly be tired after working for two weeks, even if it was mostly meetings and cutting deals. He’s good at it, too. He’s had plenty of experience making deals, Tom muses with a smirk, and remembers a rainy day last winter.

_Chris eyes him from across the board, stroking his fingers over his rough jaw, “How about…I trade—”_

_“No. We agreed, no trading.” Tom cuts him off, brow lifted._

_“Then how about I mortgage—”_

_“You’ll be bankrupt in two rounds, Chris.” He’s got this one in the bag._

_His lover glowers at him, and the blue little Boardwalk square remains between them, and then Chris gives him a smile, “Fine, how about a deal? You know I can be quite persuasive.”_

_Oh, does he know. Still, with rent in the thousands, and Chris barely having enough, he wants to see how desperate his love really is to stay in the game. With a little head tilt, Tom hums._

_“If you let me rent, I will give you double up front for two passes. That’s four thousand, guaranteed, and all I want is to safely land twice before my next payment.”_

_Apparently, you can buy time. Tom leans on one hand and holds back a smirk, “Make it six.”_

_“Six!” Chris exasperates, “What the fuck for?”_

_“Taxes, obviously. If you don’t land and I don’t have enough money to pay, I’m shit out of luck.”_

_Chris almost looks proud. Still, he isn’t moved. “Four, and I’ll throw in a little something extra.”_

_“What? A pound of coke?”_

_Chris bursts out with laughter at that, and Tom grins along, giggling._

_“No, baby. How about…a hotel on New York Ave, for Kentucky Ave?”_

_He mulls over it, but it doesn’t make any sense for Chris to give him a hotel. Tom has three houses on that avenue, so it would only give him a clear advantage if Chris landed there. It’s too generous, his gut says. He eyes the board, his own items, then Chris’ perfectly placed cards and money._

_He has two red cards, and his other properties have houses, and Tom’s landed on red squares all afternoon without consequence. He takes another look at Chris’ red property cards, trying to read the rent, but his lover’s hand covers it and he looks up into those blue eyes._

_Chris smiles politely, “Tick-tock, sweetheart.”_

_Tom frowns and finally speaks, “You want to give me four thousand dollars and a hotel on one of my better properties, in exchange for Kentucky Avenue and safe passage? Is that right?”_

_“Right.”_

_God, Chris knew how to cut a deal. He dressed it up so nice, Tom almost didn’t see right through it._

_“As generous as that is, my darling,” Tom hums, “You’ve offered too good of a deal to someone who is used to being fucked over. I’m afraid I’m going to have to decline, and if you don’t pay now, I’ll have to send someone to collect for me when you’re least expecting it.” He lifts his hand and slowly uncurls his fingers to show his expecting palm, smirking at his lover, “Pay up, Daddy.”_

The look on Chris’ face made him want to toss the board game aside and fuck for the rest of the afternoon.

Abruptly, he forces his thoughts away and tries his best to concentrate on finishing the book again before Chris gets home.

*

He doesn’t feel anxious when the day begins to wind down. His heart doesn’t palpitate, his palms are warm but not slick, and he reads. Lazing about on the couch since that afternoon, Tom’s in and out of his dozing, the book resting on his chest and at times perched in one hand.

_“I found myself grinning until my cheeks hurt, my scalp prickling till I thought it might lift off my head. My tongue ran away from me, giddy with freedom. This, and this, and this, I said to him. I did not have to fear that I spoke too much. I did not have to worry that I was too slender, or too slow. This and this and this!”_

No text, no call, but it’s fine. It’s easy. But knowing that he’s at peace does nothing to stop the craving.

Perhaps he’s not as calm and cool as he’d thought, because every car door he hears, he pauses his reading and glances up at the ceiling to strain his hearing, wondering if he’ll hear a key in the lock. But, the dogs don’t move, so he knows it’s a false alarm.

_The first thing to do is kiss him. Kiss him the way you’ve wanted to for days, make him feel it – the loneliness, the weight off your chest, the peace and calming of being home again._

The fifth time he hears a car outside, he pauses – and then watches the pups both twitch their ears and open their eyes. The house is frozen and quiet for a moment, and Tom’s baited breath escapes him as he hears a key scrape the lock.

The dogs bark, first in warning, until Chris opens the door and their vicious barking turns into playful and happy yips.

He’s as handsome as when he left, although visibly tired with puffy little under eyes and a tired smile as he and Tom spot one another. He lets the door take his weight, gently knocking against the wall as it does, and his bags slump to the floor as he drops them in favour of giving their two pups his affection.

Tom hides his smile behind his book, feeling an overwhelming sense of giddiness as he watches them – and he snickers as _Rosie_ goes over to Chris, meowing and rubbing against his shin. Tom definitely wasn’t the only one to miss him.

But, as Chris gently shoos them away and pushes his things aside to close and lock the front door, Tom watches him intently. His pristine white button-up is wrinkled and his trousers are, too. His hair is still combed, but it’s messy, and he looks so inviting that Tom has to restrain himself from jumping up and into his arms as his love turns to face him. Chris smiles, something warm and meant just for him, and murmurs in that soft, deep timbre.

“Hello, sweetheart.”

Chris walks over and Tom lets his man pluck the book from his fingers, watches him glance over the cover before sitting down and setting it aside carefully, and when he feels Chris’ body next to his – he can’t help it.

He sits up, reaching out and grasping Chris’ shirt to get some leverage, and pulls him in for a kiss. He touches every inch he can, brushing his fingers over the rough jaw and through his soft hair, tasting his mouth without shame. He reaches around to his shoulders and back, his moans muffled, and his head swims with that familiar cinnamon-cedarwood scent.

It’s a proper homecoming.

He wants to devour him raw.

When Chris pulls away, properly mussed, Tom smiles impishly as he feels those fingers stroking his cheek and murmurs, “Welcome home.”

*

**Author's Note:**

> I felt inspired to write a little something for my boys. I've been drawn to reunions and homecomings lately, visiting familiar people and places in new ways. I don't have their new world completely figured out in my head, but here is a glimpse a year after the epilogue. I think they're getting restless and I'm tempted to write a little more, but I won't make any promises!
> 
> Tom has definitely changed in many ways, as I forced myself to go back and read the first few chapters of Tanqueray again (lol), just to see the different tones from then and now. What do you guys think? I sort of miss the angsty Tom haha!
> 
> Either way, I hope you enjoyed this little snippet. Thank you for reading <3
> 
> ps. if you correctly guess the book Tom was reading, I'll cherish you forever!


End file.
